


Break Time

by geckoed



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoed/pseuds/geckoed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little drabble during 'Doublemeat Palace,' right before Spike and Buffy get it on during her break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Time

This job sucks, she thought with a sigh. It was late. Not late by her standards but late by the standards of her co-workers. Nope. It wasn’t late but she could pretend that it was and that she was going to go home and take a shower and go to bed. She could pretend she was going to do all of that but it was only pretend and it never lasted long. Buffy was supposed to patrol and then crawl into bed covered in vamp dust and dirt and smelling of graveyards and whatever baddie she slayed that night. Rinse. Repeat.

Nope.

Pretending would lead to badness.

Badness would lead to wishing that she was still in the dirt.

Wishing she was still in the dirt would lead to Dawnie being taken away and that couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let that happen. She’d made a promise to mom. She had a duty.

Duty-gal, that was Buffy Anne Summers to a T.

Maybe not work-gal, but definitely duty-gal because she felt that familiar tingle on the back of her neck.

Vampire.

Close by, too close for this part of town.

Her shoulders tensed and she tried to think of an excuse to leave work - to hunt down the vamp and get a good slay in before her shift was over, the florescent lighting of the Doublemeat Palace was getting to her. But the tingle changed to a slow burn and the tension disappeared.

Spike. Just Spike. Poor, chipped, stalker Spike.

She glanced up just as he walked by the window. She reached up and pulled off that stupid cow hat. Running her fingers through her hair, she tried to fix whatever state her hair was in.

He looked determined, his face drawn tight and his walk brisk, mumbling something to himself. Or at least it looked like he was mumbling but he could have been singing or breathing or anything that involved that mouth and the unnecessary rise and fall of his chest. She felt her heart speed up when she thought of that mouth and the way he used it - kissing her, nipping here and there, licking, sucking - all sorts of naughty things. 

Her face felt like it was on fire the longer she looked at that mouth but then he looked up and his determined face melted away. He stared at her like a man starved and she was Thanksgiving dinner. Or a vamp who was leashed in the worst way possible and there she was - the Slayer - all vulnerable and yummy looking, which was a little more accurate. And that fire spread down to her chest and her fingers that never left the nape of her neck traveled to the front of her throat.

She scratched the skin and tried to remember that she was duty-gal, doing the dutiful thing to be duty-ish. She tried to remember Dawn and mortgage payments and company policy and Slayer stuff but all she could think about was his fingers digging into her thighs and his hot, wet breath on her neck and the gasping moans that he seemed able to wrench out of her and the way his skin warmed up the longer they clung together and digging her nails into his shoulders and blood and violence and feeling something other than deadness.

"Hey, I’m going on my break," she mumbled to no one in particular.


End file.
